Daycare
by Tez
Summary: Claire learns a little bit about children and a little more about herself. Fluff, JC implied.


Disclaimer: I don't own Law and Order in any of its incarnations.  
A/N: Pointless fluff inspired by 'Homesick'. J/C implied.

* * *

"Momma Holt is being processed downstairs, Daddy Holt is already on his way to Attica, and Big Sister Sylvia –"

"Committed to foster care eight months ago," I inform Lennie, brandishing the file he asked me to track down. "I'll bet Family and Children's Services didn't know there was another kid, or they would have taken him too."

"There wasn't another kid eight months ago," he replies, holding the door to the squadroom open for me. I'm immediately assaulted by a cacophony of high-pitched, enraged shrieks, the likes of which can only be produced by a cranky infant. As we walk toward the source of the noise, Lennie confirms my suspicions. "This kid is five weeks old."

"Where's the FCS caseworker?" I ask curiously, choking back a laugh as I watch Mike Logan attempt to soothe the child, who is ensconced in one of those portable carseats, without any modicum of success. Poor Mike is clearly at his wit's end.

"They said they were backlogged," Mike growls, turning to me with obvious frustration in his expression. "Thank God you're here. I'm losing my mind."

"I've got Sylvia Holt's court transcripts from her FCS commitment, just like you requested," I reply, handing the file to Lennie. "Are you going to use it to look up Sylvia's caseworker?"

"Yep," Lennie confirmed. "And we're going to demand she get her public-servant ass down here to get Sylvia's baby brother before the kid busts a lung or my partner has a coronary, whichever happens first."

"Poor baby," I say sympathetically, still watching Mike try to appease the child. "He sounds pretty upset. Why don't you try picking him up?"

Mike shoots me a dirty look. "He won't let us pick him up," he sighs, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. "You think he's screaming now? Wait until I touch him. I've tried, Lennie's tried…hell, the Lieutenant even tried, before she locked herself in her office to get away from the noise."

"But he's so cute," I argue, leaning down to tickle the baby's chest with the tip of my finger. He lets out a squawk of surprise before grabbing at my hand and I smile to myself, delighted. I've spent most of my life being certain that I don't want children. The only time I seem to change my mind is when I'm actually around them, which isn't very often.

Since I'm busy watching the baby, I don't see the meaningful glance that Mike and Lennie exchange. When I look up, Mike is staring at me in a way that makes me very nervous.

"Claire, can you spare twenty minutes? It's a personal favor."

I glance at my watch, but it's more a reflex than anything else. All I have left to do today is paperwork, and it's rare for Mike Logan to ask for anything in that pleading tone. He's been a good friend to me over the past few years, and I'm not going to turn my back on him if he's in trouble.

"Of course," I tell him. "What's up?"

He lifts the little boy out of the carrier, practically dropping the squalling baby into my arms. "The kid is up," he replies shortly. "The kid has been up and screaming for an hour, and I've been stuck here with him the whole time. Since you've got twenty spare minutes and he seems to like you, I'm signing him over to you and going to get a nice, hot, _extremely_ strong cup of coffee."

"But –"

I start to protest, but he's already booking it out of the squadroom. I turn back to Lennie, who's laughing at me.

"You should see the look on your face," he informs me, looking from me to the shrieking infant I'm holding.

"Lennie, this isn't funny," I scold him, panicked. "I don't have kids, remember? I think I babysat once in high school for an hour or two. What am I supposed to do?"

"Like this," he says, showing me how to support the baby's head. His crying is becoming a little less frantic now that he's being held.

"See?" Lennie adds. "He likes you." He reaches out to touch the baby, but draws back as the child's cries intensify. When Lennie pulls away, he starts to calm down again.

"Oh, you're a smart boy, huh?" he says to the baby. "Already flirting with the pretty girls; keeping them all to yourself. I've got to hand it to you, you have great taste."

A smile flits across my face, and Lennie sees it before I can hide it.

"Try walking around with him," he advises, patting my shoulder reassuringly. "Rock him or bounce him. Just don't shake him."

"I know _that_," I tell him, shooting him a withering glare, and he chuckles.

"How'm I supposed to know what they're teaching you at Harvard these days?" he replies, smirking.

I don't deign to respond, ignoring him in favor of anxiously studying the baby in my arms. I take Lennie's suggestion, pacing between his desk and Mike's as I rock the baby carefully.

"Hey, little guy," I croon softly, stroking his cheek with gentle fingers. "You're safe here, sweetie. You don't have to cry."

I watch in reverent awe as the baby reaches up and grabs my finger, squeezing it with a disproportional amount of force for his tiny size. I'm so busy observing him that I almost don't realize he's stopped crying. Lennie notices, though.

"Look at you," he says, his voice full of warmth and pride. "You're a natural, Ms. Kincaid."

"Imagine that."

"You sound surprised."

"I am," I reply, grinning as the baby tugs my finger into his mouth. "It's not exactly a skill I practiced in law school. Lennie, do you think he's hungry?"

"Probably," he agrees. Going over to the baby bag on Mike's desk, he roots through it to find a bottle. "Here. Do you want me to heat it up for you?"

Something in my chest tightens, and I find myself shaking my head.

"I'll do it. I can put it in the microwave, right?"

"Sure," he says. "Just make sure to shake it after it's done, and test the temperature before you give it to the baby. Squirt a little on your wrist. If it burns you, it's too hot."

"Fair enough." I head for the break room, baby and bottle in hand, as Lennie picks up Sylvia's file.

"Wait," I say suddenly, turning back to him as a question occurs to me.

"What?"

"The baby. What's his name?"

He shrugs. "The mom didn't tell us."

I close my eyes as they start to sting, unwilling to cry in the middle of the squad room. I know that horrible things happen to innocent people every day, that this baby's effective status as an orphan is barely a blip on the Bad Stuff Radar of the City and County of New York, but right now it's all I can see. This baby is stuck in the middle of a police precinct, being cared for by a couple of homicide detectives and an ADA who knows less than nothing about children, until a social worker can find the time to come and get him. He'll be transferred to emergency foster care and hopefully find a permanent foster home where he won't be abused or neglected.

The idea of him going through the system only has a mild affect on me because it's an abstract one, set in the future. The immutable fact that the people who are responsible for his care right now don't even know his name is enough to break my heart.

"Claire?"

Lennie sounds puzzled, and I shrug off my introspective mood.

"Lost my train of thought," I lie. He sees through my line but doesn't call me on it, and I make my escape to the break room. I'll have time enough to be depressed after the poor kid has been fed.

* * *

Mike is leaning against the counter in the break room, a coffee mug in his hand and a blissful expression on his face. He gives me one of his boyish smiles when I walk in, and I can't help but smile back.

"Give up already?" he asks, before he catches sight of the baby in my arms. The quiet baby.

"Man, Claire," he breathes, disbelieving. "How did you do that?"

"According to Lennie," I tell him, sticking the bottle in the microwave and setting it for fifteen seconds, "I'm a natural."

"You're a hero," he corrects, shaking his head. "I was ready to rip my hair out after all that screaming."

"I think he's hungry," I explain. When the microwave beeps, I take out the bottle, shaking it vigorously before testing the milk against my wrist. I don't think it's too hot, but I'm suddenly unsure of myself. I've never done this before; what if it burns him?

"Want a second opinion?"

Mike's hand covers mine, tilting the bottle down to dab a few drops onto the back of his other hand.

"Well?"

"Seems all right to me," he replies. We exchange looks – mine apprehensive, his amused – and then I put the bottle to the baby's mouth.

"Hey," I murmur, a smile spreading across my face as the baby sucks eagerly at the bottle. "I was right. Hungry baby, huh?"

Mike throws a companionable arm around my shoulders, taking a long swig of his coffee as we watch the baby.

"Suckering you into this was the best idea I've had all week," Mike tells me, and I laugh. "Really. When the social worker finally gets here, I'll buy you a drink."

"Sounds good. There's just one problem," I tell him.

"No. No problems, Claire, please. My head just stopped throbbing."

"I have a job to get back to," I remind him. "I can't hang around waiting for ACS all day. Jack will kill me; I have three motions I have to write up for him by the end of business today."

"Can't McCoy do his own paperwork for one lousy day?" he grouses. Secretly I wish I could agree with him, but I know better.

"McCoy's paperwork _is_ my job," I remind him. At the look on his face, I relent a little. "Fifteen more minutes, and then I really have to go. I mean it, Mike."

* * *

The phone is ringing insistently. I'm about to ask Claire to answer it, since I'm up to my eyeballs in evidence reports, when I remember that she hasn't come back from the 2-7 yet.

"McCoy," I snap into the receiver, frustrated by the distraction.

"It's Logan. I need a favor."

"That depends on whether you're planning on sending my assistant back here to do her job anytime soon."

"That's part of the favor."

I put down my pen. "I'm listening."

* * *

Claire is the first person I see when I step into the squadroom, and my heart throbs with painful longing at the sight. Her head is tilted to one side as she listens to something Lennie Briscoe is saying, but her hands are otherwise occupied. The baby in her arms is either asleep or almost there. She's rubbing his back with her palm in a gentle circular motion, his cheek resting against her shoulder. Even her business attire doesn't detract from the picture of domesticity. The two of us have never talked about having children before, not even in a hypothetical way, and I figured I was past wanting to have kids. Seeing Claire with this baby makes me wonder whether I was right about that.

"Counselor," Logan says from behind them, drawing Claire's attention to me. She's obviously torn between coming over and explaining herself or staying put and letting the child sleep. I solve her dilemma by walking over to Briscoe's desk, setting a thick file down on the pile of paper next to her.

"Jack, I –"

"Detective Logan told me you were busy going above and beyond the call," I inform her, raising an eyebrow at the man in question. He returns my gaze evenly and I realize he was telling the truth about her presence here being vital today. If they hadn't needed her desperately, he'd at least look a little guilty for dragging me down here. Of course, I don't mind the trip now, since I've gotten to see this new and unexpectedly appealing side of Claire. "This is everything we have on the Bronson case. I need the severance motion on my desk by the end of the day."

"I've got two other motions I have to file –"

"They're taken care of."

Her initial look of surprise gives way to appreciative affection, and I have to work at not smiling at her. The last thing I want to do is give our too-observant detectives another reason to suspect that my relationship with Claire doesn't end at the front steps of One Hogan Place.

"Thanks, Jack," she says softly, and I give her a wink.

"No problem. I've got to get back…I'll see you later."

She nods and I head out, pausing in the doorway to look at her one more time. She looks good with the baby in her arms…she looks _right_. I can't help but wonder what that means for us, and what I'd like it to mean. Nodding to myself, I turn to leave. One of us has to get some work done today.

* * *

I look up at the knock on my door. Claire pokes her head around the corner, giving me a shy smile.

"End of business is 5 PM, right?"

I glance at my watch and snicker. It's 4:58.

"Hand it over," I reply, my tone teasing. "And grab yourself a drink. You've earned it."

She drops the file on my desk and collapses onto my couch, leaning her head back against the cushions. I pour us both glasses of scotch, carrying them over and sitting down next to her.

"The social worker showed up two hours after you left," she tells me, accepting the glass I hand her. She sips it absently, looking forlorn. "They'll put the baby in emergency foster care until they can find a permanent home."

"You don't sound satisfied."

She looks surprised. "I guess I'm not," she says finally. "You and I both know the system is flawed, Jack. FCS does its best, but its best is rarely good enough."

"What can you do about it?" I ask, trying not to sound confrontational. She sighs, contemplative.

"I wish there was something I _could_ do," she tells me. I put a tentative arm around her shoulders and she snuggles willingly against me, resting her head on my chest. "But the only way to make sure a foster kid is raised right is to be their foster parent."

"Hmm," I say noncommittally, and she laughs.

"Don't worry, Jack, I'm not planning to run out and adopt half of Lower Manhattan." She glances up at me, a wry smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Not that I haven't thought about it. I'm just not in any shape to be a parent to anybody right now. I work crazy hours for my demanding boss –" we share a secretive smile "– and I'm almost never home. I've killed off two house plants this month alone. You can't raise a child like that."

I run my fingers through her silky-soft hair, knowing she's right but somehow unable to get the image of Claire soothing the baby to sleep out of my mind. In my vision, though, it's not little Holt baby she's cuddling. It's a baby with dark hair, my eyes, and Claire's smile.

"Things change," I remind her softly. "Someday you're going to be a wonderful mom to a very lucky kid."

Her lips brush against mine, and when the kiss ends she smiles tentatively at me.

"Someday, Jack."


End file.
